


Dorian's kind of comfort

by orphan_account



Category: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubcon Kissing, Implied Allan Quatermain/Tom Sawyer, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-15
Updated: 2005-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Devastated by the death of his fatherly friend, young Tom is offered a rather special kind of comfort by Dorian...





	Dorian's kind of comfort

**Author's Note:**

> by Osiris Brackhaus
> 
> Slight AU (after retrieving his painting, Dorian turned against M and didn't get killed). Happens after Allan's funeral.

Like a huge, fiery red eye the sun was sinking behind the N'gong mountains, dusk drenching the roiling thunderstorm clouds at the horizon in a riot of colours. The light increased the glow of Africa's red earth to a degree that made it look almost surreal, together with the colorful sky a sight so intense it looked hardly credible.

Yet the young man sitting on the balcony of his hotel room overlooking the scenery couldn't have cared less. Actually, he hadn't even noticed.

Sitting on a chair, young agent Sawyer had propped the barrel of his Winchester onto the balcony's railing, between a half-full glass of Whiskey and a half-empty bottle of the same drink. Aiming in deep concentration on nothing particular, he tried to sort out his emotions about the loss of Allan roiling in his heart much like the clouds on the horizon, though this particular image was completely lost on him right now.

Tom had been sitting here all afternoon since the brief ceremony this day when they had buried Allan next to his son, and still, he couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was that troubled him so much about the old man's death. Not that it was an easy task, especially not after the drinks he had had in the hotel's bar earlier on, and the missing half of the bottle's contend hadn't vanished into the air, after all.

So when suddenly, a shadow fell onto his face, it took the young agent a while to realize that it couldn't be the sudden African nightfall. Almost drowsy, Tom looked up, only to find Dorian leaning against the railing, a cigarette in his manicured fingers, a hinted smile on his ageless lips.

"You look miserable", the immortal stated dryly, his half-smile disappearing to reveal something that might be mistaken for genuine concern, if that hadn't been a notion too foreign to Dorian for anybody to believe. "I was worried about you, and your current state seems to agree with me."

"How did you get in here?", Tom asked, his speech almost not slurred by the alcohol. "Among decent people, locked doors mean something like 'stay out!'."

"Probably they do, yes, among decent people." Turning around, snatching Tom's Whiskey-glass from the railing, Dorian greeted the scenery in front of him with a grand gesture. "Mother Africa", he declared as if staging the opening lines of a romance novel, "where the earth beats in the thunderous rhythm of humanity's ancestry, where the black continent's ancient magic makes the perfect background for the white man's great adventures."

Toasting the horizon, Dorian emptied Tom's glass in a single drought and turned around to face the young agent again. Nonchalantly, and completely ignorant of the people on the place outside, he threw the glass over his shoulder, adding in a soft voice: "We will all miss the old tiger, won't we?"

"Get lost", Tom snarled, "And stop pretending you'd miss anybody."

"Ouch." Completely nonplussed, Dorian took another step towards his young colleague, stopping abruptly as Tom took his Winchester from the railing and put the barrel right beneath the immortal's sternum. Raising his well-groomed eyebrows in amused question, he said: "Really? Do you think it'll make you feel any better if you ruin my suit?"

"Get lost." Underneath the blond curls hanging into his face almost like a curtain, Tom's blue eyes blinked in tired boredom. "Just leave me alone."

"And that's going to improve what?", Dorian asked gently, and without removing the gun pointing at his stomach, he leaned forward to take a strand of hair out of the American's face. "Trust me, at my age, I have quite an experience at losing people that were close to me. And just as much experience on how to get over it."

"Dorian, I am really not interested in your advise. My way of life differs vastly form yours."

"Oh, of course. Live hard, party hard, die young and leave a pretty corpse."

"You're sick."

"No, I am actually quite fine. Perverse, that's what you wanted to say, but even then, I would be tempted to object. I am complicated."

"You are bored." Tom set down the gun next to his chair, leaned back and grinned mirthlessly at the immortal who for once looked neither snug nor amused. Actually, he looked rather defiant. "You are bored to death and can't die. "

"You Americans are so blunt."

"But still right."

"So what? Did being right in this case help anybody?" Again, Dorian took another step, his feet now almost touching the tips of Tom's shoes. The immortal bent down, setting his hands onto the chair's armrests, his face only inches away from the young man's nose. "Did it make you feel better to hurt me with the truth?"

"Dorian, stop it."

"Why should I? It made you feel good to show me what a pathetic monster I have become, didn't it? Go on, there's surely much more you'd like to tell me."

"I - no. I'm not joining you in one of your mad games."

"Not? So you're through? Then it's my turn now." Having Dorian's face so close to his own, it struck Tom odd that he had never before realized how much the immortals dark brown eyes sparkled with malicious intellect. "You loved the old man. But not in the way a son loved his father, that is. At least, not in the way it is proper in one of those decent, good christian American families you doubtlessly grew up in."

"Fuck you, Gray." Tom was angry enough to attack the other man, but still he was reasonable enough to remember that there was no point at all in doing so. "What do you want?"

"Isn't that pretty obvious?" The deep, silken tone of Dorian's voice made the young American blink nervously. "I want to express my sympathies and offer some comfort." For a split second, Tom saw the tip of Dorian's tongue darting across his lips, wetting them in an appetite that fatally reminded of Mina's less composed moments. And yet, there was an unexpectedly tempting promise in the immortal's words.

"I don't want your... kind of comfort."

"Very convincing, Tom, very convincing." Leaning forward even a bit more, until his mouth was close to the young agent's ear and their cheeks all but touched, Dorian whispered: "And you are sure that your body doesn't call out to mine, that you definitely don't long for a human's touch to ease the pain you feel inside? Can you say so without denying your precious truth?"

To his own, immense displeasure, Tom found himself not outright able to deny Dorian's allegations. It made him furious.

"I hate you", he hissed, "you are despicable."

"Yeah. But still right, ain't I?"

Without waiting for Tom to find any words, the immortal seized the moment when Tom was too stunned with fury and kissed him, taking the young man's head in his hands and kissing him like he wanted to take all his fury, his pain, his longing from him to make them disappear.

After what seemed like a small eternity to Tom, the other man let go of him, leaving his lips alone and longing for more.

"I hate you...", the American whispered in bittersweet defeat.

"Ah well, you'll get over it." Dorian straightened up, checking his hair with a gesture that spoke of ages of practice. "Boy", he added licking his lips, looking down on the still somewhat stunned youngster with snug achievement in his eyes, "You taste as sweet as I thought you would." Patting Tom on the head, he turned and left for the exit, he explained: "Which reminds me, I'll have to check what's for dinner tonight. Yesterday's desert was utterly insufficient."

Sawyer's enraged scream contained hardly anything intelligible, and when he emptied his gun shooting though the door that had closed behind the immortal's back, it was to at least have a chance at ruining Dorian's suit for what he had done to him.


End file.
